


Mudslide

by lady_of_clunn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Body Modification, Challenge Response, F/M, No Sex, Tattoos, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-06
Updated: 2012-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-04 22:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_of_clunn/pseuds/lady_of_clunn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a faraway island, Hermione and Lucius are searching for something they want, but find something they need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mudslide

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own anything associated with Harry Potter; I do not earn money by writing this story.
> 
> Thank you ever so much, nastygrl and draconis23, for being such wonderful betas and for the awesome banner that draconis23 has made for the story.
> 
> Mudslide has won Dynonugget’s Dyno Challenge and I would like to thank everybody who took the time to read and vote.

The fingertip traced the narrow road along the coastline, halted and reversed its course for several centimetres only to slump down flat on the heavy paper. With a low sigh, Hermione lifted her hand from the map she had been studying for the last few hours and reached for her grapefruit and passion fruit juice. It tasted nothing like the juice in Europe. The grapefruit here were succulent with just the right amount sweet and no bitterness.

Sucking on the hibiscus-decorated straw, Hermione looked around, taking in the clear blue skies stretching over a turquoise sea dotted with a few overwater bungalows. For the first two days of her journey, she had stayed on Bora Bora, which she had found distressing. Overrun by tourists and one luxury hotel next to another, it was a crowded, disenchanted place.

Very few tourists made it to Huahine, especially now, in the rainy season. So far, Hermione hadn’t seen any evidence of rain. Her usually pale skin had already taken on a sun-kissed look, although she had spent her time at the hotel in the shade, studying maps and parchments that were folded rather than rolled into a scroll to appear less suspicious.

Abandoning her documents, Hermione searched the serene landscape of deeply green, overgrown and ragged volcanic mountains. She would not mind staying a bit longer than her assignment required. This place was probably as close to paradise as it could get on earth.

She reclined in her sunbed and closed her eyes. A little nap would not hurt, she surmised.

“You realize that it is exceedingly hazardous to wear your hair in this fashion?”

Her eyes flew open and her hand reached for her wand she’d stabbed through the haphazard bun that was her hair.

Everything about him was gleaming white in the midday sunshine; his long hair creating a blinding halo around his head. She would have never expected to see Lucius Malfoy in anything but heavy dark wizard robes, but here he stood, exuding wealth and sex in linen trousers and a shirt that probably cost more than her entire stay at the charming little hotel.

“Lucius,” the voice was whiny and high pitched. “It is hot in the sun.” The tall, willowy blonde next to him toyed with the flower chain around her neck, the traditional welcoming gift. They had obviously just arrived on the island.

 

“I am aware of that,” he answered in a bored tone, his eyes not leaving Hermione, who sat frozen on her sunbed, trying to unobtrusively hide the map and other documents from view.

“But I want a cocktail!” The whine was now hurting Hermione’s ears. Without looking, Malfoy produced his wallet and took out some bills of Polynesian Francs, handing them to the scantily clad woman without counting.

“Then get one.”

This seemed to be enough attention for the time being, and the blonde stalked away towards the pool bar, swaying her hips and smiling coquettishly at the two Polynesian dancers who were relaxing in the pool. The tattooed men looked like they had stepped out of the cover of a bodice ripper novel, with their long black hair and well trained bodies. Hermione suspected they did a bit more than dancing in the hotel’s dinner shows, as both of them had been trying to make contact with her – and every other female staying alone at the hotel.

Uninvited, Lucius Malfoy sat down next to her legs on the sunbed and leaned on the low, coconut wood carved table.

“Pray tell, Miss Granger, what is the Ministry’s top surveyor for wizarding artefacts  
doing on Huahine? Or is it Weasley, now? Are you enjoying your honeymoon?”

His elbow rested on the map, very close to where she had clearly marked places of ... interest to her.

“It is still Granger, Mr. Malfoy, and I do not intend to change to Weasley anytime soon. Or ever.” Rita Skeeter had been unstoppable in drawing out her break-up with Ron for much longer than two months. Finally the headlines, the howlers and the hate mail had slowed down.

“Ah, I remember something mentioned in the Daily Prophet, now that I think of it.”

He idly looked at the map under his arm.

“I am on holiday,” she improvised, trying to distract his attention.

“All alone?” He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

“Yes.” Hermione started collecting her parchments and maps. “Peace and quiet and sunshine. Just what I need after 22 months of work at the Ministry without any break.”

A hand caught her wrist as she stood to leave. She looked at it pointedly but he chose not to acknowledge her silent protest.

“The new wizarding museum. I heard. You are working on the International collection?”

Taking a deep breath she freed her hand and turned to leave for her little bungalow.

“Among other things, yes.”

Walking briskly towards the small structure thatched with palm leaves, she heard him call after her.

“I hope we will be able to catch up on recent events over dinner?”

Malfoy. Why Malfoy? There had been rumours, warnings, legends about the collectors and vendors who were trying to beat them to the artefact. Why, why, why had it to be Malfoy of all people?

 

***

 

Hermione had not dared to go to the beautifully lit terrace for dinner. Instead, she had been forced to make do with the bushel of delicious, tiny bananas that hung from the roofing structure of every bungalow’s private patio. Room service was not in the Ministry’s budget.

Determined that she would not let Lucius Malfoy’s presence starve herself, she forced her steps toward the breakfast room and sat at a table clearly too small to accommodate more than two persons.

Hermione loaded her plate with pieces of fresh pineapple, papaya and mango. The display of baguettes, croissants and ‘exotic’ jams such a strawberry and cherry saddened her. She had seen passion fruit lying on the street, disregarded by the passersby who had decided to spend a small fortune on New Zealand apples.

Picking up one of the small plastic containers with a red, ripe cherry printed on the lid, she sighed. Made in Belgium. Why?

Resolved to do something to strengthen the local economy, she put the jam container back into its bowl on the buffet. During her stay here, she would indulge in the sweet, local produce and forgo rice and potatoes for uru, the bread fruit that Captain James Cook had so desperately tried to sail back to his native England in the hopes of feeding the masses.

Adjusting her long pareo, the traditional dress that was little more than a thin piece of cotton fabric knotted into a dress in numerous ways, she sat down at her little table, enjoying the still cool morning air. After one horrid day in too-thick shorts and suffocating T-shirt, Hermione had taken to dressing in island garb. The calmness and beauty of the island was a balm for her stressed mind. Before accepting this assignment, she had not even been aware of just how overworked and burnt out she felt.

Maybe, after the opening of the new museum she could negotiate a research year or some kind of exchange with the local Shamans? After all, they had asked the English, rather than the French Ministry, for help. The wounds of colonialism and missioning must still be running deep.

From the other side of the room, Lucius Malfoy watched the Muggle-born witch savour the juicy pieces of fruit on her plate. At his side, his companion, Chloe, prattled on and on about a black pearl jewellery designer in the capital city, Papeete and how perfect his style would go with her new dress for the next Ministry gala. At last, Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose and slid a blank cheque over to her. Feeling that he was committing a monumental mistake, but not caring all the while, as it had obviously served to stop the incessant chatter, he spoke to the witch next to him for the first time this morning.

“For Merlin’s sake, woman. Find a secluded place and Apparate there. Buy those blasted pearls, but do not tell me about them.”

For a moment or two Chloe did look hurt, but she recovered quickly and smiled a wide smile at him. The cheque disappeared into her purse and she leaned forward to brush her lips against his cheek, breathing a ‘Thank you’.

He wanted to return his attention to the witch he had been watching all morning, but during the short period of time that he had afforded to Chloe, Hermione Granger had finished her breakfast and left the dining room.

 

***

 

“No, no, no! I had reserved a cart for myself. I have the faxes right here!”

Hermione was close to stomping her hiking boot-clad foot. This was ruining her plans.

The Reception Manager was friendly and unyielding as steel. He had told her that he understood. That he would also be upset in her place. That he was sorry. That she would receive a free dinner on the last night of her stay, including a seat at the best table for the show that the hotel was staging every weekend.

All of this did not change the fact that she was standing next to the last of the oversized golf cart-like vehicles, and Lucius Malfoy was standing at its other side.

The reception manager had gently taken her fax copies and pointed to the confirmation stamp of the hotel.

“You see?” He asked with a slight French accent. “Subject to availability. Unfortunately, this tour is fully booked, so there is no cart available for single use, and as you and Mr. Malfoy are the only single travellers, you may share a cart or wait for the next tour in two days.”

Hermione dragged her hand over her pulled back hair in exasperation. Two days! By that time Malfoy and the sceptre would have disappeared to England.

“Is there any other way to rent a vehicle on this island?” Even to her own ears her voice sounded desperate.

Apologetically, the Reception Manager spread his hands.

“Not out of season, I am afraid. This is not Tahiti or Moorea, after all.”

“Alright, Malfoy,” Hermione spat, turning to the man at last, “but I am driving.”

She plopped down behind the small steering wheel and tried not to watch as Malfoy elegantly slid into the passenger’s seat.

“Don’t let me stop you.”

 

***

Two hours later, they had visited a local vanilla shop, a handicrafts show along with the adjoining handicrafts and pareo manufacturer that printed cheesy sunsets over tie-die patterns. The small group of fellow tourists practically bought half the island and were giving Hermione a headache with their never-ending exclamations over one ugly souvenir after the other. Finally, they were on their way to the pearl farm at the far side of the island, which meant the end of the commercial part of the tour. She could not wait to see the historic sights of the island.

Lucius Malfoy had been standing apart from the group, watching them scurry between the vending tables. All of a sudden, he was gone from his place next to the giant hibiscus bushes, or rather hibiscus trees.

“With your hair and newly acquired colouring, you do look very much like a local Vahine, Miss Granger,” he murmured behind her and slipped a large hibiscus blossom into her hair behind her right ear. Hermione jerked away and spun around to face him. Lucius Malfoy regarded her in an amused way.

“Although I must say that it is most unfortunate that you changed the lovely dress I saw you in yesterday for this rather ... plebeian get up." He gestured towards her long linen trousers, short sleeved linen shirt and sturdy boots. “This is hardly a way to dress for such a lovely outing. Or had you planned something else?”

“Not acquiring any souvenirs, Mr Malfoy?” She ignored his question completely and ventured back to their cart without giving in to the urge to look back at him over her shoulder. She could feel him behind her, his pursuit making her back tingle along her spine in a primal instinct of chased prey, fleeing to the dubious shelter of the small cart.

“Maybe I am waiting for the most exquisite of souvenirs.” His voice was so sensual that her skin broke out on goosebumps despite the stifling hot weather, and she tightened her grip on the steering wheel. He was the enemy, after all.

“And what would that be?”

Malfoy feigned surprise.

“Why, black pearls, of course!”

“Of course. Indeed.” Hermione said, more to herself than anything else, feeling grim.

“Tell me, Miss Granger, what will you do with the sceptre if you find it?”

Hermione’s eyes grew wide but she kept her gaze on the increasingly steep road.

“If I would come across an artefact, which I am not saying I intend to, I would certainly not put it away into my personal collection or sell it to the highest bidder!”

“And what, pray tell, would you do?”

“I would secure it for the wizarding community where it belongs.”

Lucius snorted.

“Like the British one? Is that not very colonial thinking on your part?”

There were clouds gathering in the blue sky above them.

“I will never steal artefacts, Mr. Malfoy. If somebody would choose to express their gratitude by lending something to the museum for a special, temporary exhibition, I would not decline.”

Lucius Malfoy leaned back in his seat, hands entwined behind his neck.

“So, that’s what it’s called, nowadays?”

The first, thick drops of rain hit the roof of their vehicle when their tour guide called out to the group:

“Un averse tropicale! Arretez, arretez! This is a tropical rain storm, stop until it’s over!”

Within seconds, sight and sound were obscured by the rain that seemed to be falling in sheets rather than drops. The temperature had chilled considerably, and a distant rumbling filled the air behind the sound of falling water.

Without a second of warning, a wave of mud, debris and water came crashing down the mountain above them, taking trees, rocks and undergrowth with it. Their cart had been the last in the little caravan of tourists. Hitting it squarely in the side, the muddy wave brought the cart and its occupants down the hill, tumbling and screaming.

 

***

 

“Miss Granger? Miss Granger!”

Blast! How did one wake someone from unconsciousness without casting Enervate?

The cart had acted as a cage around them, shielding them from bigger rocks and parts of trees. It had done nothing to prevent them from tumbling inside the seatbelt-less vehicle or being ejected as they hit a large rock jutting out over a natural terrace that sat above the sea. He had spent several minutes searching the immediate vicinity of the damaged cart, wading through thick mud, turning rocks and leaves. In an act of utter desperation he had spread out his fingers and thought with all his might.

 

Accio wand! Accio... wand...

 

Nothing.

 

The rain had still not ceased, every drop a cold, needle sharp pelt on skin.

 

Miss Granger had still not awoken from her unconscious state. Fortunately, he could not see any open wounds, but without his wand it was impossible to check her for internal injuries. He was quite certain that it was not good for her to lie in a wet, cold puddle of mud, but at the same time he was afraid to move her.

Her wand was not in her hair today. He needed to get them dry, perform some diagnostic spells and Apparate them back to the hotel. Slowly, hesitant to do this to a helpless woman, he unbuttoned her blouse. Instead of underwear she was wearing her bikini, and he remembered that there had been a swimming and snorkelling break scheduled for later in the day.

He ran his hands over the clammy skin of her midriff and over her sides. There was no sign of injury beyond some scrapes and bruises, but there was no sign of her wand either.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed his arms under her knees and shoulders and picked her up, groaning with the effort of pushing himself and the woman in his arms up to stand. He was feeling increasingly sore, now that the shock of the accident had worn off. His knees hurt straightening under the additional weight. He was not a young wizard anymore.

“I hope I am not killing you by helping you,” he murmured to the dead weight that he was carrying. Contrary to public and his ex-wife’s opinion, he was far from being heartless and deeply regretted certain choices he had made early on in life, or rather choices that had been made by his father, the head of the family.

The small plateau where they had landed was exposed to the elements, and the only path leading away was along the steep hillside, with the sea crashing against the rocks beneath them.

As Lucius struggled against the thick vegetation, he felt utterly alone and out of his depth. He knew nothing about lighting a fire, calling for help or administering first aid the Muggle way.

He nearly turned around to go back to the small plateau when the jungle abruptly ended giving way to a shimmering clearing with a Maraë, an ancient, sacred place of the Polynesian people, standing in the middle. The tall, stone slabs on top of the artificial, flat hill were as erect as ever, the carefully-laid stone flooring immaculate. Magic had kept this place frozen in time, protected from discovery and deterioration by stone-bursting roots.

“It seems we have indeed found what we came here for, Miss Granger.”

Lucius walked through the wards that acknowledged the presence of a magical being with a slight ripple in the surface of their dome-like structure.

He stepped into the Maraë and decided to seek the relative shelter of one of the corners where two of the stone slabs met, forming walls around the temple. She had not stirred as of yet, and Lucius became more and more worried. Her lips were blue, and she had started shivering violently. The rain had started once more, and Lucius lay down next to her, drawing her close, giving the young woman as much warmth and shelter as his freezing body would provide.

 

 

***

 

He must have fallen into an exhausted sleep. When he opened his eyes, the sky was a black backdrop to more stars than he had ever seen. There was no more rain, he felt adequately warm and a fire had been lit at the other side of the Maraë.

Lucius stiffened. Miss Granger was still right in front of him and hopefully her stillness only meant that she was asleep. Who had lit the fire? And how?

“So you have awoken.”

Bolting upright, Lucius threw off a strange blanket made from leaves or plant fibres and startled Miss Granger awake.

An ancient wizard was standing in front of them, clad in a stiff cloak, a wreath of palm leaves around his head. The twinkle in his eyes made him look like a darker, beardless Dumbledore.

 

“Who are you?” Without his wand, Lucius felt unbearably vulnerable. The cool breeze of the nighttimes’ sea travelled over him, cooling his skin. Sometime during their sleep, his shirt had been removed. At his feet, Miss Granger stirred and propped her upper body up on her elbow, her unbuttoned blouse falling open.

The old wizard smiled.

“You have come in search of something. You are the first in many, many years. I was afraid that I was all but forgotten. Please, do join me by the fire.”

Miss Granger struggled to her feet and sidled up besides Lucius.

“He did not even move his lips, did he?” Granger whispered into his shoulder from behind.

Lucius shook his head no. A variation of Legillimency must be at work. That would also explain why he could understand that old wizard in the first place. He did not look like someone who would be speaking French or English at all.

Carefully they stepped close to the fire, revelling in its warmth and sat down gingerly, legs crossed.

The shaman drank deeply from a coconut that still had its soft, green outer shell, but was chopped off at the top end, serving as a goblet. He handed the coconut to Hermione who decided that her thirst and the fact that the man had drunk first was enough to take the risk of drinking the fresh coconut milk. After several greedy draughts, she handed the drink to Lucius who hesitated for a moment before drinking in turn.

The shaman leaned heavily on a short staff that he had propped up on the ground. Intricate carvings covered the top end of it, enveloping a large, carved black pearl.

Hermione gasped when she realized at what she was looking. Lucius had made the connection as well, only he was not as vocal about it.

“The Mana, the magical force, is strong in both of you.” The shaman threw something that looked like seeds or grains of some sort into the fire. Hissing, it exuded fragrant fumes that made Hermione and Lucius feel heady. “You both regret decisions made earlier in life, some taken a long time ago, some of more recent nature,” the shaman looked at Hermione, “you are very young, but you have seen too much; you have aged prematurely within.”

Hermione winced. Had he just called her old, of all things?

Pointing his staff at Lucius, the old wizard continued.

“You have been marked before, but not to strengthen or protect you. Another has marked you with his power. This must be reversed for you to find solace.”

Lucius right hand clasped his left forearm where the dark mark was still visible as a faint, grey outline. How did this man know?

“We shall eat, then we shall accomplish what you seek.”

Fish, vegetables and uru fruit was laid out on large leaves. It smelled so appetizing that Hermione’s empty stomach hurt with hunger. She reached for one of the leaves, but Lucius looked pointedly at her.

“What? Do you think he would feed us, if he was going to do us in?”

Lucius sighed and reached for his own leaf.

“Always eloquent, Miss Granger, aren’t you?”

She shrugged and bit into the freshly grilled fish.

Feeling ravenous, Lucius overcame his revulsion of eating with his hands and tasted the marinated raw fish salad. It was fresh and simple and better than anything he had eaten in a long time. His house elves had not wavered from the strictly classical French cuisine that Narcissa had preferred, even long after she had left the Manor and him. He had never seen the need to inform them of his boredom with the same dishes he had eaten for more than 20 years now.

Sated and sleepy, Hermione yawned into her hand. Without being able to prevent it, she leaned dangerously and had to brace herself against the rough stone underneath her.

“Did you drug us?”

Strangely, she couldn’t truly bring herself to care. Too comfortable was the haze in her mind, at the same time lulling and clarifying.

“No, just a gentle nudge for the journey you are about to embark upon.” The old shaman smiled.

Lucius narrowed his eyes. He did not feel any effect of the sort Miss Granger seemed to be experiencing, but he did not like the prospect of being dosed by a strange wizard in the middle of nowhere while his wand was missing.

Miss Granger’s arm trembled, and he caught her just in time before she collapsed on the floor. Despite being dazed and in a very comfortable place in her mind, Lucius’ touch registered. With a violent lurch that propelled her forward, she jerked away.

“Don’t touch me!” She swayed. “You don’t want to sully yourself, do you now?”

Lucius could not help but look unsettled by her comment. It had hit very close to home.

“Enough!” The voice of the shaman thundered through their minds and made both of them flinch. “You came here to be healed and you must put the past behind you, if you do not wish to be trapped and suffocated by it!”

Healed? More like to steal that beautiful sceptre of yours. If I would have known, that someone is still guarding it, I'd never have come here…

“Now help your woman in her quest.”

Again, both wizard and witch flinched.

Wondering where the shaman had gotten the impression that they were intimately affiliated was beyond them, although Lucius thought that it might have something to do with finding them sleeping, pressed up against each other in the corner of the Maraë.

He felt oddly pliable and agreeable which was the only explanation as to why his next statement was made.

“I… I apologize, Miss Granger. Please be ensured that I no longer hold those beliefs.” His voice was very quiet. As soon as he had spoken, he realized that it was, indeed, true.

Miss Granger looked surprised for a few moments, but then her eyes glazed over, and she blinked sleepily.

The shaman made a gesture with the sceptre, and she found her body following his movements readily.

Not quite trusting Lucius’ acquiescence and peacefulness, she sank back with reluctance in her heart. But his chest was warm and firm against her back, and she felt a strange surge of peace settle over her.

Safe, she thought. How strange is it to feel safe leaning against a not-convicted Death Eater?

Lucius bent his leg at the knee and Hermione rested her right hand on top of it, as if it was simply the place for it.

Mesmerized, she saw the shaman approach, a low chanting resounding in her head. As he settled down, a bowl of black powder next to him, he produced a menacing looking bone-made instrument. Soon, sharp teeth bit into the skin of her hand, transferring coal powder into the layers of epidermis, sparks flying into the air.

 

A man she did not know, capable of magic she did not understand, was marking her skin, possibly permanently. The daze took over her mind completely, and Hermione smiled contently. Surely, all would be well.

 

Her head fell back, resting on the shoulder behind her. As she closed her eyes, she felt a warm, strong hand tighten over her left shoulder, the thumb caressing her flesh. It was a marvellous and frightening situation, yet she could not bring herself to be troubled by it.

She was swimming in a warm, comfortable cocoon when the old shaman gently shook her awake. The sceptre touched the tender skin of the back of her hand and a pleasurable tingling shot through her.

There was a black ornamental turtle on her right hand. Hermione stared. She was nearly almost certain that she was not allowed to have any visible tattoos on her job.

The little head of the turtle turned towards her and, as if sensing her distress, it slowly turned and paddled towards her wrist and further on to her arm, where it gently floated underneath her skin.

Hermione smiled. She felt an instant connection to the small creature and, in response to the surge of happy emotions, the turtle waved one of its flippers just a tiny little bit.

A strangled sound made Hermione turn around.

Lucius looked drained. He must have held her for a long period of time without complaint.

“Why don’t you rest a bit?” After hearing only the voice of the shaman chanting directly in her head, it felt obtrusive to speak aloud.

He instantly complied, his eyes glazed and unseeing, he arranged himself on the floor, his head coming to rest in her lap. Her hand found its way into his hair. It always looked so soft, but now it was hard and spiky with dried, muddy water.

With deft movements, the shaman applied the bone instrument to Lucius wrist. Soon double bands of alternating black and blank squares, like in a chess board formed around it and another was placed close to his elbow.

"This, Vahine, is you. You shall hold him together. Your love will make him strong."

Love?

Inside, her rational self protested, flailed her arms and banged at the boundaries that the Shaman's strange magic had erected within her.

Just inside of the chesslines, he placed rows of triangles, like pointed teeth.

"Sacrifice, skill in warfare, dedication to one's family." The old man nodded in contemplation. "Your man is a good man, Vahine."

In a third line, a row of black squares appeared above and beneath the Dark Mark simultaneously. The dark paste above the mark mirroring the movements of the bone comb at Lucius' wrist.

"Strong lines to contain," the shaman said in Hermione's head as a slim band of charcoal was weaving around the squares, in and out, back and forth.

At the very moment the last jab with the bone comb closed the inky lines, the Dark Mark came to life. The snake moved agitatedly, silently hissing at the borders above and below.

"A companion, to protect." The shaman's voice held conviction and finality.

He moved Lucius’ arm to lie on a cool, green leaf and started to work on his shoulder. One moment the skin was nearly white and unmarred, the next a shark with spiralling ornaments on its streamlined body waved its fins impatiently.

The shaman leaned back, his eyes alert. Beating its strong tail twice, the shark shot forward and jumped over the three-lined borders, hitting the oscillating head of the snake with its strong jaw. The snake reared up and hissed, spitting venom, trying to strike the shark with its sharp fangs.

Though lightning fast, it could not reach the swirling spirals, the pointed fins and delicate gills.

Lucius' skin was slick and clammy under Hermione's hands. He was throwing his body from side to side, obviously in anguish and pain.

Several rows of scalpel sharp teeth sank into the neck of the snake. Lucius eyes flew open, his body went rigid and a blood curdling scream escaped him.

Hermione was holding on to him for dear life, but her hands were slipping and somehow she was endlessly afraid of what might happen if he would slide through her hands and away into the darkness beyond the fire.

"Do something!" she screamed at the old wizard, who all of a sudden looked much less like a friendly grandfather.

"You are the only one, who can help him, Sorceress! There is much darkness in him. Do not let him go." The shaman stood now towering over her, but not helping her desperately clutching fingers to still the bucking unconscious body.

In her fear she hooked her arms around his shoulders and pressed him to her. If she were to lose this man now, much more would be lost than she could imagine.

Blond hair was in her face, sticking to her sweaty throat.

"Fight," she said against his neck. "Fight it, Lucius."

The shark struck the skull that was now brittle and frail with one last powerful blow of its tail just as the sceptre was pressed into the smooth body of the fish. Like sand that had once been wet and caked into a form, but now had baked in the relentless rays of the sun for too long, the skull cracked, disintegrated and blew away in the gentle breeze of the night.

Lucius looked into her eyes for several long seconds, before darkness fell around and inside them.

 

***

 

Fading black and blues were already turning into the lighter shades of soft yellow when she opened her eyes at last. Tiny sparkling diamonds littered the sky where the blue was still deepest. It was his turn to cradle her now. She had been more exhausted than she realized.

He must have woken some time during the night and moved them back against the Maraë wall. His head rested against the tall stone slab, his eyes closed. She looked up into the fading night sky, searching the Southern Cross.

"Everything is upside down here," he said without opening his eyes, "you, me, even the stars."

She reached out to touch his left arm, but hesitated just before her fingertips could make the contact.

"Does it hurt?"

He opened his eyes and looked at the dishevelled witch against his shoulder.

"No," he motioned towards her hand. "Does yours?"

"No."

There was a long stretch of silence during which she snuggled deeper against his chest and he held her tightly, while the sun painted the sea and sky in yellow, orange and red.

"I will never be able to wear half sleeves in public again."

Hermione frowned.

"Have you ever worn short sleeves in public before?"

"No."

Hermione closed her eyes and breathed in the scent that was Lucius, salty air and earthy jungle.

"A true catastrophe, as I see it. You will have to keep your half naked appearances exclusive to me then, since I already know your disfigurement."

She could feel him smile against the top of her head.

"I see."

 

***

 

The treck back to the street had been a short, albeit taxing, affair, as they had a crumbling, soggy slope to climb. Leaving the shelter of the magical cocoon that the Maraë was left them feeling small and bereft. Several times one of them would look at the other and open their mouth to speak only to change their mind and continue in an awkward silence. Daylight made the events of last night seem even more dreamlike. After several miles of walking along the deserted road in the early morning hours, a local fisherman had stopped next to them and asked whether he could take them somewhere. The doctor, perhaps?

Their clothes were of an uneven, brown colour, stiff from muddy, dried water that had also seeped into their hair, had dried under their fingernails and stuck to every crevice of their bodies.

The Polynesian employees slowly backed away as they entered the lobby of their hotel. The word Etua was whispered more than once. Lucius and Hermione were beyond caring. A young girl in an elegant long pareo worked the reception desk this morning. Seeing who was approaching her, her eyes widened at their appearance, but she caught herself and quickly retrieved and held out to them a flat, long parcel.

"Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger, this has been left here for you." Lucius carefully folded back the plant fibre cloth to reveal their wands. "I am afraid that I have to tell you that your friend has left the hotel yesterday. She left a message for you, Mr. Malfoy."

Hermione stood dumbly watching Lucius read the missive. A part of her wanted the other witch dead, or at least permanently, far away. But this was the real world. This was not an enchanted Maraë where her past did not matter and her future held all possibilities. She turned away with a sinking feeling in her heart. After all this, she needed a drink.

Although she was not dressed appropriately, the barkeep did not bat an eyelash at her muddy appearance. She sat down heavily on one of the tall stools and pretended to study the brightly coloured cocktail menu.

Long, pale fingers removed the garish piece of cardboard from her hands.

"I have already ordered for us."

Indignation flared in her. How dare he assume...

"Two mudslides." The barman slid two napkins in front of them and placed the tall glasses on them.

"I know it's not exactly tropical, but I found it humorous."

Hermione merely raised her eyebrows, but took a small sip of the chocolatey drink through the long straw sticking out of the whipped cream topping.

When she had set down the glass on the top of the counter, Lucius gently took her right hand in his, stroking the skin and alerting the small turtle that proceeded to swim in slow spirals, turning around its own axis.

"My ... friend ... appears to have found love at first sight and decided to use the cheque I gave her for jewellery to set up her own pearl farm, together with one of the hotel's dancers."

Hermione blinked.

"Oh. I am sorry to hear that, Luc... Mr. Malfoy."

Tears threatened to spill out of her eyes, and she blinked more rapidly.

"Really? I am not." He tried to brush one mud-caked curl out of her face, but it would not obey and stubbornly fell back across her cheek. "Would you do me the honour to accompany me to dinner tonight, Hermione?"

She looked into his face and could see that the shaman had been right. His face was open and unburdened, as if he had found closure from his past, not forgetting, but freeing himself of its shackles. They had found what they had been looking for, only that they had not known what they had been seeking.

"I think I would like that very much, Lucius."

She smiled and could feel the turtle swim an excited circle.

"Long life and fertility," the shaman had whispered into her ear while gently touching his sceptre to the tattoo.

Maybe she would for once not worry about everybody else or her work. Maybe she would not burden herself with tasks that could also be done by her assistants.

Maybe she would take a chance tonight.

After all, everything was upside down here, him, her and even the stars.

**Author's Note:**

> Vahine - Polynesian for woman
> 
> Marae - Polynesian temple
> 
> Etua - Polynesian art of religious/magical tattooing
> 
> Mana - Polynesian for magical force


End file.
